Tag Archives: doubt

I have a confession to make. I’ve been hiding the fact that I am a fraud. I have been trying to write this blog about self care and healing, and yet for many months now I haven’t doing either of those things. I haven’t been able to write because I’ve been busy being a fraud. I haven’t been working out. No yoga, except for a little at home that was prescribed by my movement therapist. He was so fantastic that I just couldn’t go back for more sessions, because I felt like I was failing him and wasting his time. No kettlebells, even though I had a regular thing going for several months and began to feel stronger. No more than five or six hours of sleep per night. My headaches and nightmares are coming back with the vengeance of a toddler given the wrong color cup. Breakfast on more than one occasion has been a handful (or two) of chocolate covered almonds sprinkled with sea salt and turbinado sugar. Many days I eat more pasta than vegetables. A glass (or three) of dry, red wine quiets the anxiety in my head at night. I stay up until 2am watching Seth Meyers, Anderson Cooper, Stephen Colbert, and Rachel Maddow on YouTube and feel sick about the world my children will inhabit. I am stressed, sad, and certainly not taking care of myself. I have headaches and body aches. I have gained obvious weight. My back injury has flared up more than usual. I’m tired all the time and snap at my children. It doesn’t bode well for that long, horizontal wrinkle across my forehead. I am failing myself and wasting my time. These feel like the toughest bad habits to break.

I am embarrassed to come here and write under the heading To Bounce Not Break, because so often I feel broken. I am losing my body as well as my mind. I’m missing time with my children and holding onto negativity. I have been attempting to escape and ignore myself with food and wine and mindless, endless television. I have been pushing through the days with my head down, afraid to look up and see the world I am in. I have been afraid to try, feeling as if I am so low that I cannot get back up. I am ashamed and alone, with so much work ahead of me. I am back at the bottom and must take those first steps yet again.

Today was my only day with childcare until next Saturday, so I used my time to complete my first double. Three hours of bikram today, and it was so good. I didn’t relax during the first class, but I also made sure I didn’t overextend myself. Due to scheduling, there weren’t two classes back to back, so I went home, showered, washed down a little protein with a ton of water, waited, and then came back for round two ready to sweat again. I was tired but energized, able to stretch more and go further than ever. I began already warmed up, when usually it takes me several poses to get there. I felt so strong all the way to the end. If you haven’t yet completed a double class, you must try it.

A very young, very pretty, very good at bikram girl put her mat down so close to mine today. Sigh. There were plenty of open spaces available. Why must she put herself in my back pocket?!

I know I’m only supposed to look at myself in the mirror. We are all on our own unique paths. But damn, my self esteem got the better of me today, with this perfect girl so close to my wobbly reflection. She is lean. She is flexible. Her thighs are golden and smooth. She wears the short shorts. She is unwrinkled. Untroubled.

I am a back row beginner. Advanced students usually take the front row, so they can be good examples for the rest of us. I don’t know if I will ever feel confident enough to put my mat down in the front row, directly in front of that mirror. I like hiding, as much as one can possibly hide in front of a floor to ceiling mirror that spans the length of the entire room.

It’s a funny thing, that mirror. It doesn’t lie. I am almost 35. I’ve had two kids. I can see that fact in my hips. I never had hips before, and suddenly, BAM. There they are. I wear capri pants. No, you can’t hide from the mirror. You must confront yourself, and sometimes that mental work is harder than 90 minutes of sweat and strength.

I’m stressed about comparing myself to others in the room. I can’t focus on myself in the mirror for the standing bow pulling pose, because it makes my balancing leg wobble. I have to look down at the floor, which tells me I suck, which makes me wobble even more. The teacher offered advice. Don’t look down at the floor, or that’s where you’ll end up!

I’m not going. I’m too sore. I should drink water so I’m hydrated for class. But that isn’t necessary, because I’m not going.

Where is my towel? I should stay home and rest. Where is my pink sports bra? I’m dressed, so I might as well go. It’s going to hurt. I’m standing in the hallway examining a poster of the 84 classic asanas to avoid going into the hot room. Maybe I could sneak out now and go home.

The room is packed. The sun is on the floor, but it’s not as hot in here today. I wonder if the furnace is working correctly?

The routine is more familiar today. I can anticipate. I can synchronize my movements with the dialogue. Almost. Noticeably better, though. I can focus on my breath a little. I can correct my reflection. Right hip forward. Left shoulder forward. Chest up. Sometimes I am so wobbly, but today I smile and laugh at myself. I try again.

Today I use my breath to push further. I want to phone it in, but I can’t do that to my reflection. There is a difference between laziness and knowing your limits. I focus on form and then I push. I can hear the sweat dripping and hitting my towel. I like it. It feels like I’m working.

Today I didn’t bring a washcloth to wipe my face and hands. I think it keeps me cooler to just let it be. I’m all for avoiding excess movement. But I’m actually not dying. This is a relief. It’s hard, but I feel strong.

I smiled several times today. (Except during that damn locust pose—my elbows felt like they were being twisted in a medieval torture device.) During the final few postures, I felt like I could keep going. What is happening to me?

During the final savasana, the instructor talked about the absolute importance of taking the time for yourself. Yes. I was there for me. I was making myself stronger. As she kept talking, my heart starting beating hard and my eyes filled with embarrassing hot tears. I realized I was, at last, finally doing something for myself after four intense years of ever constant motherhood, sleep deprivation, depression, and feeling alone in my marriage. It will make me a better mother if I take care of myself. Rushing to the grocery store alone doesn’t count as “me time”. It’s been a long time.

So on day three, I cried. I cried in yoga. My usually Type-A, control freak self decided to let those tears fall. They rolled down the sides of my face and into my ears and were eventually absorbed by my special yoga towel. I didn’t dare move my arms to wipe them away. This is a time of change. It hurts and feels amazing. (Even if I’m now the Girl Who Cried At Yoga.)

I left that hot room feeling so unbelievably good! I stood up a little taller as I walked to the changing room. I couldn’t believe I almost stayed home and missed such a great day! I’m definitely coming back.